Ah ... tears.
Every spankee dreams of a spanker that will spank her to tears. I assume, like me, there have been far too many nights to count where a naughty brat has lay in her bed, doing those forbidden slutty things she should be well punished for, imagining just that end result.
If she's a real, true brat - and is honest enough to admit it - then those imaginings end with more than an orgasm. They end with the lingering vision of her swollen, crimson, welted behind being rubbed with one hand while the other mops her drenched from tears and blubber face.
Now, here's the thing. Anyone can make a girl cry from a spanking. But WHY she's crying will determine how effective your spanking truly was.
When we first got married, I was iron ass tough. Daddy would break nearly every implement he had across my bare behind and I wouldn't flinch.
Consequently, when a truly punishment spanking was needed, he'd resort to dragging me to the bedroom, baring my bottom and inflicting a truly severe and intolerable punishment. I was hysterical within the first two whacks and screaming and begging him to stop.
These are the ultimate in INEFFECTIVE spankings.
Firstly, there was never any "reason" - while I knew what I was about to be punished for, he never said. In fact, these types of spankings were almost entirely silent if not for my wailing.
Next, a spanking that is physically intolerable from the first strike will accomplish only one thing: A surrender to whatever he says, wants and wants me to do ... just to get him to STOP. Not because I've learned a lesson or my behavior had been addressed.
Thankfully, I've only ever gotten three of those over the years and when I was acting up as soon as the excruciating pain abated, in addition to a significant drop in trust level, we both knew they were a waste of time.
Everyone responds to the components of spanking in their own way. Daddy's have their style of discipline and, most of the time, they rarely consider whether that "style" will be the most effective route to their brat's mind, heart, AND bottom. A trilogy of holy grail pieces that must all be in place for true discipline to be effective.
Now, I'm going to tell you about the most transformative spanking he's ever given me.
One day, I was in such a "mood" that NOTHING he was doing was working. I'd spent most of the day either in the corner or bent over something but after each "punishment" I'd arisen with the same attitude issue.
Now, I'm not an *overt* brat - which is actually part of the problem because it doesn't give him much to react to - I'm a sulker.
Sadly, this is even worse for him because it makes him feel like he cannot provide what I need to be whole and happy and productive. Even though that's not the case, I can understand a man's feelings on this.
So, in a moment of exasperation (and a stroke of sheer Daddy brilliance), he set up several different implements on a little table next to the sofa - a hairbrush, two types of paddles and an OTK cane - and called me into his office.
How he BEGAN changed the complete tone of the day - but it wasn't the last change to be had.
He was genuinely pissed off. But NOT like the enraged brute of the old punishment spankings. He was DEAD SERIOUS - quiet and calm - when he told me that he'd had enough of my "mood" that day and knowing all we had to get done he wasn't going to let me waste his time with my attitude. He said that he was going to "spank me until I got my fucking act together if that meant the rest of the night".
He wasn't "grabby" he wasn't sad or dejected or acting like he was just "doing it for me" - he was DETERMINED to fix this problem in our household and get me back on track. He told me to get across his lap. But it was HOW he told me. Something just "clicked" in my brain that arguing or protesting wouldn't help anyway (and bargaining - of any kind has always been strictly forbidden and the one sure way to get EXTRA punishment) because even though he wasn't yelling his TONE was RESOLUTE and ... well, scary.
So, I obeyed and with a last ditch "hmmmph" from me and a "Keep it up, we're not going anywhere" he picked up the hairbrush and started a very rhythmic walloping over my jeans with it.
Now here's the other thing. In addition to HIS resolute attitude and saying just the right "scolding" type things to make my brain acquiesce and prepare to receive what was about to happen,
he didn't start off in such a hard shocking way that my brain and body instantly rebelled, and therefore, shut down to the lesson it was being taught. He spanked me over my jeans with each implement and several times I was reaching my threshold of true discomfort. But instead stopping or slowing, he would tell me things like to "take it because I deserve it" - and that "I asked for this by my behavior so now I"m going to get it".
All of which instantly calmed my flight or fight and told my brain to absorb the LESSON of the exercise - and not just focus on the pain of the spanking. He had to have spanked me with each of the four implements for at least 5 or more minutes each. He wasn't tired because he was spanking in a measured and rhythmic way and by the time he ordered me to get up and lower my jeans ... all the way to my ankles ... my attitude had certainly begun to change.
"Please Daddy" I whined. "I'm sorry. I'll be better now".
We were getting close to bargaining and I could have gotten a few truly hard swats for the attempt but he simply said "Down. Now. Or this changes from an attitude adjustment to a punishment." and ended that in no uncertain terms. I complied.
I returned to his lap, he checked the heat and redness without saying anything about it - that's when I realized for the first time that he didn't do that to make sure I was "ok", it was to make to sure I could take what only he knew was coming!! He then picked up the hairbrush again.
My fight or flight kicked in again - he must have sensed me tense up. Maybe prepare to say something I absolutely should NOT say, so he offered, "You're going to learn that I mean what I say, missy, and that I'm not interested in how YOU expect the day to go. I expect you to lose that bratty little attitude when I tell you I've had enough of it. Do you understand me?"
As before, the resolute scolding inferring in no uncertain terms that there was nothing I could do to alter the course of events or to get myself out of further spanking, did the trick.
"Yes Sir," I whimpered.
And by that, I mean those scolding words told my brain that not only was it okay for me to be in this subordinate mode, but that it was my fault and I deserved the consequences so I had a DUTY to endure it.
This did something else that I hadn't expected - it made me FEEL punished in my mind (so I acquiesced without fighting or arguing) and it made me FEEL punished in my heart ... and the tears began to flow.
This was the first time ever that I'd cried from a spanking .... because I was being spanked. Because I was truly remorseful and sorry for what I did.
It changed .........everything.
He ran through the gamut of implements on my swelling, panty-clad behind (as well working a bit down the back of my thighs - the only time I couldn't maintain position). Several times, if he spanked in the same spot, I breached my threshold but instead of stopping of spanking softer, he'd scold me to "take my spanking" and inform me of how I would "remember this lesson for a long time" - both of which, again, enabled me to settle down and accept my punishment.
When he set the cane down, after making ladder lines up and down my backside - there's this technique he uses to do that in which only the last of a bunch of building in severity strokes are actually felt and left - my whole body was quivering and shaking from the sobbing.
I'd never experienced such a cathartic spanking before, but we both knew we were onto something here.
Then came the command I was dreading. "Stand up. Panties down now".
The tears came again, harder for my predicament, accompanied by pathetic sniffles and vocalized pleadings without words.
"I don't want to fucking hear it", he said. "Move it or you'll really be crying."
With full exposure now I stood there waiting.
"Let's go," Daddy began, "Is this starting to sink in now, brat? You starting to learn that I won't be manipulated by your huffy attitude and behavior?"
"Yes, Daddy." I offered. "I'm sorry."
And, I meant it. For the first time - after hundreds, maybe thousands of spankings, from childhood to that very moment - I was genuinely remorseful for messing up his day and having made Daddy have to punish me.
The first swat of the hairbrush on my very well worn out ass snapped me out of it. Again that fight or flight sprang forth and again he scolded it away. "From now on," he started, punctuated with those same steady but not so fast I couldn't think spanks, "you're going to keep that little head where it's supposed to be. No more pouting and stomping around this house like it's the end of the world or you'll find yourself right back over my knee getting your little ass punished again."
I cried harder but it wasn't loud, breath-hitching crying ... yet.
"You're going to have a very hard time sitting down tonight, little girl, so I'd be on my best behavior if I were you." Daddy offered in between bursts of cracks of heavy wood.
Because of the "build-y" way he had administered the spanking, it wasn't until the middle of the dose with the second paddle that I hit my threshold again. I could only hold the sofa super tight and kick my legs just a little bit as I realized the spanking had gotten harder, indeed.
My grunts and groans had turned to "ow's" and "please-es" before long as he was clearly planning to end with an impression. He was no longer using the cane in the special way he does so the strokes aren't jarring - he intended for me to feel each snap and searing line.
I was crying louder now and very near the end of my "accept" it level when he asked whether or not we'd have to do this again anytime soon. I promised that he wouldn't and that I'd be good. Through my now raggedy breath I wailed how sorry I was and a few strokes later it was over.
"Now get upstairs and think about how you'll behave when you come back down."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry Daddy"
I rubbed my inflamed behind and ran out of the room without bothering to pull my pants all the way up. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed for at least another 5 minutes - a really good stress relieving cry.
I don't remember much about the rest of the day.
But I'll never forget that day .... it was.... PERFECT.
The moral of the story is that just because it's punishment doesn't mean that the disciplinarian can just ... punish.
True punishment involves the acceptance of those consequences by the spankee - if not at first, then by the end of the discipline session, absolutely - and for all my years of trying so many methods and failing, the only way to get there is by activating that part of my brain that makes me FEEL punished. It may not ALWAYS end in tears, especially when it's just a quick smack or two, but that is ideal and should be the goal.
How Daddy scolds me - what he says and how he says it - unlocks that door to acceptance. It's the first step in a complex process that ends with me growing stronger and happier and Daddy basking in the glow of being worshipped and adored for being the only man alive that can tame this brat.
~xo
